Wild Thymes
by Rynadine
Summary: There's a garden in Bunnyburrow, just for them. A super fluffy WildeHopps one-shot.


There's a garden in Bunnyburrow.

It's small, at first — a square-ish plot of land barely as wide as Judy is tall. Fertile soil blends with dry, cracked ground in blurred lines, making it hard to tell where it begins and ends.

Nothing grows when Judy begins planting in it, after her fuzzy-wuzzy-tail-between-legs return home. Her original intent was to have something small, something insignificant that wouldn't be hard to take care of. Despite ostensibly having farmers' blood running through her veins, none of her attempts at gardening bear fruit, figuratively and literally. It doesn't help her mood.

She forgets all about it upon the return to Zootopia.

* * *

Nick, proudly dressed in the newly-minted uniform of a police officer, glances up at the Hopps family household with no small amount of trepidation. The building itself isn't scary, by any means. Honestly, the bunnies inside are probably even less intimidating, but threads of worm-like worry still gnaw at the edge of his mind. Beside him, Judy adopts a meaningful look filled with poorly-disguised affection.

"Nick, you're going to be fine. It's just my parents! They already like you."

An ambiguous hum escapes him. He knows she's right, but the physicality of it is still throwing him off; it's strange to think that he's going to be in the same room as Judy's _parents_. When she'd suggested a vacation to Bunnyburrow to celebrate the completion of his first week as a police officer, he hadn't really thought his answer through prior to immediately accepting.

Before he can follow up with a snide comment about fox tasers, something strikingly barren catches the edge of his vision. He turns, and his eyes widen at the sight of a thoroughly dead patch of land about fifty feet from the edge of the house. Something so inconspicuous normally wouldn't catch his attention, but a small painted sign near the front ignites his curiosity. The urge to distract himself with something quaint to ease his nerves becomes overwhelming.

"Yeah, yeah, they'll probably only cut off one of my paws," he says, waving a soon-to-be-dismembered paw dismissively as he points off to the remains of botched botany, "but what's the story on that? Over there, with the little sign?"

Judy grins and turns, her eyes briefly snagging on the light-dappled leaves surrounding the house. Her grin falls away as she realizes what he's pointing at, and a melodramatic groan escapes her before she can help it. Of _course _he'd pick it out immediately. "It used to be a little garden for me to grow things," she mutters, "during the Nighthowler... mess. The sign is new." Full, complete awareness of the fact that Nick is preparing to tease her mercilessly for failing as a farmer overtakes her, and she's absolutely sure her expression reflects it.

Nick jogs towards it before she can stop him, fully intent on heckling her with this _goldmine _of new material. The intent leaves him when he reads the colorful sign. Light hits it in all the wrong ways, giving it an especially mocking appearance.

R.I.P. Judy's Garden

2016 — 2016

A Farmer's Hell : Abandon all hope, ye who enter here

She doesn't see his expression soften, but she does watch as his posture straightens and sympathy spreads over his features. A few beats of silence pass before his tail starts swaying decisively, and the brief pity turns to resolve.

"We're going to revive it," he says soberly. His tone leaves absolutely no room for argument, like he's completely and fully committed to the idea.

Confused, Judy's eyes sharply scan the sign. Her ears droop. "What? No, Nick, it's just a dumb little thing I did to make myself feel better. It doesn't matter," she starts, but he silences her with a pleading look and a paw gesture.

"C'mon, Carrots. This was obviously important to you; let's do it. Together."

Doubt crawls into her mind, but her ears threaten to spring back up like a lagomorphic jack-in-the-box. "I… We aren't even going to be here most of the time. How are we going to manage it?" she asks reasonably.

Again, he waves a paw in a 'whatever' sort of motion. "Am I going to commit to being 'Ol' Farmer Wilde' even when I'm away? Yes, yes I am. I'm sure your parents would love to help you do something normal."

Because he's trying to be kind, she restrains the urge to hit him. Barely. Finally, she nods, and tentatively starts outlining a plan. Nick listens with rapt attention, crouching down next to her to stay at eye level.

* * *

He likes to call it "Wild Thymes" because that was the name Judy hated the most.

"It isn't even clever. You aren't even _growing_ thyme, Nick, and it's hardly 'wild!'" she complains for the tenth or eleventh time.

Nick, clad in a poorly-made too-small Santa Claws hat that makes him look like he practically jumped out of a cartoon, raises a digit. His muzzle morphs into that expression she knows oh-so-well that practically _screams _'loophole,' so she puts a paw to her head preemptively, closing her eyes to restrain a loving smile.

"_We _aren't growing thyme, Carrots. It's _our _garden."

A groan escapes her, but it's good-natured. She takes a good look at the landscape around him, trying to avoid the smug grin she just _knows _is on his face.

The trees around the Hopps family house are all leafless. It's winter now, just around Christmas time; after Nick had quietly told her that he didn't celebrate with anyone, she dragged him off to Bunnyburrow. The objections he made were purely for the sake of banter, as saying 'I would love that, please drag me to Bunnyburrow more often' seemed relentlessly sappy.

Her gaze shifts back to the plot. It's still sort of a mess, but since it's about twice the size (and far cleaner) than it was a few months ago, calling it a 'garden' no longer feels like a joke. Blueberries, carrots, and several other crops just barely dot the mulched surface. They hadn't bothered with rows, desperate to get _something _to grow first. The nearby sign's been painted over with a fresh coat of oak-ish brown, and a new message is scrawled onto the front in half-working permanent marker.

Property of

Nick Wilde & Judy Hopps

She smiles at the wooden plaque, for what's also probably the tenth or eleventh time. They'd playfully bickered for an entire _week _on whose name should be listed first; Judy had insisted that since it was Nick's idea, he should go first. Nick disagreed, claiming that it was her space in the first place.

Their argument was swiftly ended by a carton of blueberries, to the surprise of absolutely nobody involved.

The thought of blueberries brings her back to the present; a gentle breeze blows lightly through the remains of the decidedly deciduous trees, and Judy closes her eyes to bask in the simple bliss of being _home_. She loves her job, but even Supercop Judy Hopps can admit that a break for Christmas is fair game. Despite the cold fronts battering Zootopia, the air that flows through her fur is only slightly chilled — Bunnyburrow's consistent weather is one of the many reasons farming is so effective.

Nick, seeing her muzzle drift off into a haze of pleasant thoughts, walks behind her to nestle his head between her ears. It's familiar for both of them, in all the right ways.

"Penny for your thoughts, Carrots?" he asks, the slight vibration of his throat tickling the back of her head. The smile on her muzzle widens while she opens her eyes, and she flicks one flushed ear in a futile attempt to swat at him.

"I just never thought you'd be good at this," she remarks semi-sarcastically. Tendrils of truth make their way into her words, though; her attempts at gardening have gone much better with Nick at her side.

The fox scoffs, taking a few steps back to bow over-exaggeratedly. "I am a fox of many talents," he says, muzzle almost touching the dirt.

Light, happy chuckles bloom from Judy as she turns, her arms splaying widely in a universal signal for 'hug me'; in response, Nick ratchets back up like a flesh-and-blood dippy bird, stepping into the embrace with no complaints offered. It warms her heart to see him so open.

"You know I love you, Nick," she says quietly, pulling a little closer into his shirt.

"Do I know that?" he returns, pausing for the tacitly-agreed-upon length of time. "Yes, yes I do."

Warm, content silence reigns over the entrance to the Hopps household before Nick appears to make up his mind on something.

"So," he starts conversationally, his voice already overflowing with the confidence of a mammal who knows he's won, "d'you want to go on a date sometime?"

She smiles.

* * *

Judy still has trouble with the word 'couple.' She and Nick are a couple, she thinks. Cou-ple. Even if it's starting to grow on her, the syllables begin to come apart when she says it out loud for what might as well be the hundredth time.

Not that she's complaining. The past six months have been one long and successful exercise in proving that yes , it turns out a relationship with Nick is just as fulfilling as she'd dreamt it to be. If anything, the romance between them had only strengthened their partnership. Half-teasing rumors of them developing ESP for silent communication have been increasingly common; Nick would make some indecipherable paw gesture, and without any hesitation she'd return with her own, leaving a myriad of mystified mammals in their midst. It was as hilarious as it was telling.

In any case, it's summer, now — a time of year in Bunnyburrow renowned for the Carrot Days Festival. Kits and exhausted siblings flow in and out of the Hopps household like a miniature fluffy river, only sparing tentative glances towards the red fox and gray rabbit working the nearby garden.

It's four times the size of her original area, more than able to comfortably fit both Nick and Judy if they splay out while laying in the dirt. A picture-perfect whitewashed picket fence surrounds the plot, helpfully provided by Bonnie and Stu, and almost every one of their plants is nearly-fully grown in the few rows set out for them. While blueberry bushes and carrots are obviously the most abundant, stray lettuce or errant potatoes serve as testaments to mild experimentation.

Judy, leaning against the wooden sign with a wide-brimmed straw hat atop her head, feels her heart swell at the progress they've made. Although Bonnie and Stu are in charge of the day-to-day upkeep of the garden, she and Nick are the ones who harvest, plant, expand, and perform most of the other major functions. It's relaxing, and ensures that everyone has a part to play.

She takes another long, appreciative look at the garden, her eyes latching onto Nick as he prepares to harvest his first blueberry bush. There's an expression of almost comically intense concentration on his muzzle, and she fails to resist the grin that creeps over her face. He looks like a strangely agricultural Indiana Bones, ready to swipe several of the "priceless" blueberries. It's _adorable_.

Chuckling softly to herself, Judy lazily pads over to the now-squinting fox. He doesn't look up, but he does let out a quiet purr when she starts to scratch gently at the base of his right ear. Behind him, a wonderfully poofy tail swishes happily in the air; Judy fails to resist the urge to reach out and run her other paw through the fluff. It never ceases to amaze her how _soft _his tail is.

"Hard at work?" she teases lightly.

Without replying, Nick finally picks a few blueberries from the bush and turns to her triumphantly, lovingly flicking at one of her ears. "Apparently. A certain somebunny isn't helping, though, is she?" he fires back playfully.

Rolling her eyes, she nabs a few blueberries from his distracted paw, popping one into her mouth. Nick isn't sure how she manages to look so smug while chewing, but his muzzle blossoms into faux (fauxy?) pout regardless.

"My aching heart can't take this, rabbit," he deadpans.

Judy pats his head consolingly, equal parts feigned condescension and genuine affection. To communicate both more clearly, she leans in and plants an exaggerated kiss on his lips, comical _smek _sound and all. The slow swish of his tail alerts her that the message has been fully and completely received.

Nick — she takes special pride in the fact that his joyful grin couldn't get any wider — jerks a thumb over his shoulder towards the thin row of carrots, his eyes glittering with mischief. It isn't very hard to predict the oncoming joke about her nickname, so she preemptively clamps a paw around his muzzle, successfully resisting the impulse to pet him _again_.

An adorably exasperated groan escapes her when she sees his chest starts to shake with silent laughter, but she leads him by the snout over to the carrots regardless.

* * *

It's a few years later, and the garden could charitably be described as "well-kept". Experience and time have given it a wonderfully aged look, but the wooden sign marking the front proudly displays its message in a mix of old and new marker.

_Property of_

_Nick Wilde & Judy __Hopps__ Wilde_

There's a garden in Bunnyburrow, just for them.


End file.
